Heart of Stone - Heart of Gold
by pshortie265
Summary: "Your mother was my friend, so I suppose I can be yours." Thomas and Sybbie's relationship through the years and how they impact each other's lives, starting when Sybbie is small. No spoilers for seasons 4 or 5.
1. Bear

A/N: I do not own Downton Abbey or any of its characters.

A/N II: I started writing this between season 3 and 4. It is multi chaptered and a work in slow progress. Chapter 1 stands alone though so I am finally publishing, mostly as a belated wedding gift for my sister, who has patiently read all my piecemeal scenes.

Season 4 has not influenced the story in any way although one plot in a later chapter mirrors a (minor) plot in season 4. I have not seen season 5 but will watch it as it airs in the U.S.

1921

Thomas wound the grandfather clock in the hallway. As under butler it was no longer his duty, but he found he enjoyed doing something soothing and familiar every day. He listened intently for the click when a very different faint sound came from deeper in the house.

He showed not confusion, but confidence as he slowly made his way towards what he thought was the source of the sound. As he did, the sound became louder, clearer, more insistent.

The cry of a child.

Curse Carson for giving the nanny the afternoon off!

Thomas turned around to make his way back to the servants' hall to find whichever one of the new maids agreed to keep an eye on the nursery. At the top of the main staircase he froze as the whimpering became a wail.

"The only thing we can do for Lady Sybil now is care for her child," Mrs. Hughes' words echoed in his mind.

Thomas didn't know much- anything- about babies. What if Miss Sybil was seriously hurt? He turned around. Whether or not he wanted to admit it, Lady Sybil Branson had been kind to him. And on those dark days after Lt. Courtenay's death, their shared grief had bonded them. Thomas had taken the blow much harder than Sybil. .

In losing Edward, Sybil had gotten through, and Thomas had cared for her. Not in the same way the chauffer did, but as a friend. But he had never gotten a chance to show his care for her, to thank her for her friendship during the war.

"The only thing we can do for Lady Sybil now is care for her child."

Thomas found himself in front of the nursery door. He softly knocked and waited for an answer like he would if he were knocking at Lord Grantham's door or any other door belonging to the family. The cries continued, and he realized how foolish he was. Of course a baby was not going to answer the door.

Thomas tentatively, slowly opened the door and peeked in. "Miss Branson?"

He didn't see her, but the baby's cries stopped.

An aristocrat at heart.

The child had stopped crying, so Thomas began to shut the door again. Then a terrible thought crossed his mind. He rushed into the nursery and peeked into the crib. The baby looked perfectly healthy, but he thought he'd better be sure.

Even though it had been nearly 3 years since the war, his first thought in checking a patient was to look for wounds. While Miss Sybil likely hadn't gotten hit by a grenade, it was possible she'd fallen or otherwise scraped herself.

Sybbie helpfully stood up and Thomas quickly assessed her arms, legs, head, back, and chest. No blood, no bruises. He looked at her eyes (Lady Sybil's no doubt, but her nose was a duplicate of the chauffer's), no dilation. He tentatively put two fingers next to her delicate neck and felt a regular pulse.

"You seem to be all right then," Thomas told Miss Sybil and turned to leave, intent on finding the maid immediately.

When he reached the door the wailing began again. Quickly he thought of what he might have missed. As far as Thomas knew, Miss Sybil did not have any prevailing ailments. She had gotten a cold once or twice in her young life that he remembered, and once had put her father in a complete panic over a high fever that persisted for a few days.

Then Thomas remembered Lt. Courtenay, as well as many other men he had seen in the hospital and at Downton during the war, and the unseen illness many of them had to fight. What he fought as well.

"Do you need a friend?" Sybbie stared at him, silent, leftover tears running down her cheeks.

"Well. Your mother was my friend, so I suppose I can be yours." Thomas straightened his uniform and stepped back into the room. Sybbie reached out and up at him. Thomas realized she wanted to be picked up and let out of her crib. Should be simple enough, he thought to himself. Thomas picked the girl up and set her on the floor.

She looked at up at him, a smile growing.

He looked down at her.

"Well, what do you do with your friends?" he asked her. "I suppose you don't want to have a smoke."

Sybbie giggled as if she understood him. Could she? Thomas wondered. Before he could ponder any further, Sybbie took off in an uneasy run to the other side of the nursery and plunked a toy off the shelf and ran just as fast back to Thomas.

"Ba!" She offered up the teddy bear to him.

"Why that's a lovely bear, Miss Bran-"

Sybbie had ran back to the shelf, grabbed a toy horse, and ran back to Thomas. "Na!" she offered the horse up to him as well, then immediately took off back to the shelf. This was repeated until the shelf was clear and Thomas' arms were full. "Not much of a conversationalist, are you?" he said. The train had been Da, a doll Koh, but another doll was La.

She looked at him expectantly. Thomas thought for a moment. What could he give back to her? He suspected these toys weren't really for him to keep, but Miss Sybil clearly expected something in return. Then he remembered he had snuck some sweets in his pocket earlier that morning. His new position kept him busier than before with less consistency, so he couldn't always catch a smoke break when he wanted to. He'd been going to the confectionary every week to pick up a few just for those moments when he needed something to tide him over.

With great flair, he knelt down to Sybbie, and gently put her toys down. He widened his eyes as much as he could. His audience was captivated, so he exclaimed, "What's this?!" with a gasp and pulled a sweet out of his pocket, unwrapped it, and gave it to Sybbie.

She squealed in delight and put it in her mouth immediately.

"It's a good thing I didn't give you something out of the other pocket," Thomas said, thinking of the packet of cigarettes.

The clock in the hallway struck four. Nanny would be back soon, surely, since the nursery dinner was served at five. Thomas placed "Ba" the bear (clearly Miss Sybil's favorite, a gift from Lady Mary if he remembered correctly) in the crib first, then gently picked up Miss Sybil again and placed her back in as well.

She seemed distracted by the bear and contented with her candy, so Thomas tentatively stepped away, then slowly made his way out of the nursery.


	2. Every Step She's Taking

Christmas, 1923

The servants' ball this year was almost as dour as it had been during the war, even though it was a remarkable improvement on 1920 and 1921 after the deaths of Lady Sybil and Matthew Crawley, respectively. The family still had not recovered, would never recover their spirits for tradition after these. Lady Rose gave gumption to the ball last year, but she was spending what little time she could with her parents in London for their brief holiday leave from India.

Thomas had given his first dance to the Dowager Countess, as was his right as the 2nd highest ranking male servant. He had also managed to dance with Lady Grantham before she slipped out, and Lady Mary before she slipped out even earlier. Now that he was finished with his dances with Lady Edith and Isobel Crawley, Thomas supposed he should turn his attention to keeping morale high amongst the female staff. His dancing ability was almost as well known as his lack of interest in female romance.

Thomas would have liked to give his first staff dance to Mrs. Hughes, but she seemed pretty contented dancing with Mr. Carson. He locked eyes with Daisy and she grinned. "The bear, perhaps, Mr. Barrow?"

Thomas gave a sly smile back and held a gloved hand out to Daisy.

A tug on his coattails stopped them from joining the dance floor. Thomas whirled around to see who would dare do such a thing to the under-butler. His rage was put out before it began when he locked eyes with Miss Sybil.

"Bear! Barrow!" Miss Sybil exclaimed.

"Why of course Miss Branson, I would be honored," Thomas replied. He turned to Daisy. "I'm sorry Daisy, but the ladies of the house must have precedence."

"Of course, Mr. Barrow," Daisy graciously stepped aside and gave a slight curtsey towards the toddler, "Miss Branson."

Thomas gave his most lavish bow usually reserved for the Dowager Countess or visiting ladies of the aristocracy to Sybbie, who gave him a sloppy quick curtsey in return, but with a charming grin.

Thomas gently guided Sybbie into a position facing him but away from most of the dancers so they wouldn't crowd into her. He showed her how to make "claws" with her hands and to growl at him, stepping forward. Then they switched. Sybbie giggled in delight the entire time over several musical numbers while the rest of the party waltzed.

When Carson walked by, Sybbie turned towards him with her claws and exclaimed "Carson! Bear!" and growled. Carson looked down at Sybbie, then indignantly towards Thomas, who shrugged innocently. Like most of the household, Carson couldn't stay mad for long at the child who so took after her beloved mother they had lost.

"Regretfully, Miss Branson, I do not know the _bear_ dance. However, if you would like to join me with the foxtrot, I would be elated."

Sybbie nodded solemnly.

"First, curtsey to Mr. Barrow to thank him for the dance," Carson instructed Miss Sybil.

Sybbie turned to Thomas and gave him another shaky curtsey and another big smile. He returned with another lavish bow.

As Carson instructed Sybbie and put her little feet on his to guide her on the steps of the foxtrot, Thomas felt a pang of sadness and jealousy. Each step she's taking is a step towards who she'll be, he thinks. Growing up here, would Sybbie be trained to be a fine lady like Mary? Mary was beautiful and proud- everything an Earl's daughter- and Earl's wife- and Earl's mother- should be. Sybbie was unlikely to be any of these. She was a chauffer's daughter. A nurse's daughter. The daughter of his friend. Sybbie should be like Sybil- a woman with a mind and heart of her own.


	3. Evil Footman

_A/N I: I'm now jumping ahead in time to after season 5. Unfortunately, this no longer aligns perfectly with cannon. Remember I wrote the outline of this story between seasons 3 and 4, so some characters introduced since will not feature, even though they probably should. Still no spoilers for seasons 4-5; although some things that I wrote into the story did happen on TV, most of them happened on a wildly different timetable than Julian's. I hope that doesn't turn anyone off._

_A/N II: Sorry for the long delay in updates. I always swore I would finish a story before I began to post, and this is why. I had some serious RL get in the way. RL still getting in the way, to be honest, and will probably continue. I am still here. The second part of this chapter is still not done, but I don't think I'll be changing any of this first part- I was hoping if I waited until after the season 5 finale I could change any minor details that did not align to canon, but, that didn't work out so well for me._

Spring, 1926 (part I)

Thomas observed Sybbie and Georgie running and playing in the distance as he stepped out for his smoke break. The cousins had grown up close, half- orphans, half-aristocrats. They shared a governess now, the chauffer's daughter getting the same education as the future Earl of Grantham.

The world was changing. Actually, the world had changed, and Downton was finally trying to catch up. With the chauffer managing the estate for the past several years, the business model had been transformed into something that might just sustain itself well into the 20th century and throughout the life of young George. Branson and the Earl took young Master George out on their rounds throughout the estate so George could absorb and learn without being lectured. In turn, Lady Mary happily took Sybbie with her on calls throughout the county. That way, the focus was on Sybbie, and not Mary's rich widow status and moldable young son.

The remainder of the time, both children were learning Latin, French, arithmetic, history, and all loads of other subjects from the governess. Already young Miss Branson could recite and play piano with the best ladies of the land. How uncomfortable her father looked at each subsequent event! And yet how proud her grandparents were.

Lady Mary and the Earl and Countess sang the praises of the governess, Miss Harriet. Downstairs, she was tolerated at best. Miss Harriet made Thomas reminisce fondly about the days of the parade of incompetent, lazy nannies flirting shamelessly with the chauffer or Thomas himself. Miss Harriet was instead bad tempered, self-righteous and Lord Almighty, she did not refuse the rod with those children.

Thomas had experienced his fair share of the rod during his childhood as well. He could have done without. The abuse had made him cold, indifferent. It was the cause of everything he was that he didn't like.

Spare the rod and spoil the child, is what Carson had said when Thomas had reported the intensity of Miss Harriet's discipline techniques. Thomas had begun to protest, but Carson waved him off. Thomas had tried Mrs. Hughes, who had sympathized.

By the end of the week Mrs. Hughes reported that she had approached Lady Mary, who sternly reminded Mrs. Hughes about Miss Harriet's reputation and credentials, and her long list of former students who turned out to be the finest members of society.

Mrs. Hughes had then approached Tom. He timidly replied that both children seemed to be learning a lot from the governess and furthermore, he knew very little about what children needed from a governess, since he of course never had one, being largely self-taught. Mrs. Hughes did report that "Mr. Branson" had looked very pensive after the fact and Thomas had noticed that recently the chauffer had taken a less passive interest in his daughter's education. Thomas had even overheard some muttering after one of Georgie's readings of Calvin- "MY daughter shouldn't be learning that heresy," or something along those lines.

Thomas took a long, beautiful drag from his cigarette and smiled at Georgie and Sybbie inviting the neighborhood children to join their game. This was undoubtedly what Mr. Crawley and Nurse Crawley would have been proud of in seeing their children, not painting accomplishments or Latin poetry readings.

Thomas put out his cigarette and turned to go back inside when he heard a faint whimper coming from the direction where the children were playing. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Sybbie on the ground, her cousin and the other children unawares halfway across the field.

"Barrow!" she cried between her wails. Thomas rushed quickly to the child's side and squatted beside her. Her knee was cut and bleeding and her whole left side seemed to be covered in dirt. Again he called upon his years at the convalescent home to assess her injuries. There was nothing severe, but her ankle was jetted out at an odd angle, and Thomas doubted she would be able to stand or walk on it.

"There, there, Miss Branson. It will be all right. I shall fetch Dr. Clarkson at once-"

"NO!" Sybbie screeched louder. "You! Make it better, Barrow!"

"Well, Miss Branson, I don't know-" Thomas had an idea. "I DO happen to have just the right medicine for a scrapped knee….." He pulled out a hard candy from his pocket and offered it to her.

"THAT's not medicine, that's candy, Barrow!" the little girl protested.

"Miss Branson, I am shocked! As you very well know, I was a medic with your dear mother during the Great War. I think I know what is _candy_ and what is _medicine_. And this, my dear Miss Branson, is definitely highly effective, cutting edge ankle medicine. If it looks or tastes like candy it is merely a coincidence."

Sybbie looked dubious, but look the candy and put it in her mouth. Her wailing turned to soft sobbing, but she continued to look at Barrow with suspicion.

"Very good, Miss Branson, thank you." Thomas knew Miss Sybil still had to be looked at by the doctor. He couldn't tell if she had twisted or broken her ankle. "Now I shall fetch Dr. Clarkson."

"NO! YOU! You have medicine, Barrow! You fix me! Stay here! I'm scared, Barrow!" Sybbie's cries increased again and she reached for Thomas' arm to keep him from leaving.

The child legitimately looked frightened, Thomas thought. He couldn't leave her alone in this state, but she needed the doctor. There was no way Sybbie could get to the main house on her own legpower. Thomas was at a loss when Sybbie's tears cleared slightly again and she called, "Georgie! Georgie!"

Thomas pivoted and saw the boy running about 20 feet away. "Master George," Thomas could not dare to raise his voice at the heir of Downton, but he did stand and between the two of them, they caught Georgie's attention.

"Sybbie?" the concerned boy walked over cautiously as if he were afraid of what he would see. "What is wrong, Sybbie?"

Sybbie's chin trembled and tears slowly fell down. Georgie turned to Thomas. "Barrow, I insist on knowing! What is wrong with my cousin?"

"I don't know, Master George. We need to fetch your Grandpa Clarkson straight away." Thomas weighed the options. Georgie would be unable to stop Sybbie if, stubborn girl, she decided to try to walk. It would be better if Thomas himself stayed and distracted Miss Sybil while Georgie ran to the big house to alert someone to contact Dr. Clarkson. "Master George, I need you to run as fast as you can to the house and have Mr. Carson or someone in your family telephone your Grandpa Clarkson right away. We'll stay right here. Your cousin can't move."

Georgie stood and turned towards the house, then turned around, "Is Sybbie going to die?" he asked Thomas.

"Of course not!" Thomas protested immediately. "I just need to stay here and make sure your cousin doesn't try to walk. Her ankle may be broken or sprained."

Georgie looked doubtfully at Thomas, then at Sybbie, then turned and ran-quite fast, Thomas noted- towards the house.

Thomas turned his attention back to Sybbie. "Tell me a story, Barrow!"

A story. Yes, that would be a good distraction. If Thomas knew any stories. "You've heard all my stories, Miss Branson, and I promise you, they are not nearly the caliber of Mr. Carson's."

Sybbie glared at him, chin trembling.

"Right. Um, allright," Thomas thought fast. "Once upon a time at Downton Abbey, there lived an evil footman."

"No, Barrow! There are no evil footman at Downton!"

"Of course not, Miss Branson! But this is a _story._" Sybbie looked somewhat pacified, so Thomas continued. "The evil footman plotted and pranked with the mean old ladies maid-"

Sybbie cut him off , "Mrs. Bates isn't mean or old!"

Barrow patiently explained again, "This is a story, Miss Branson," at least the girl was distracted and not crying. "The evil footman and bitter maid plotted against Mr. Bates! The evil footman tripped Mr. Bates in front of the entire house when a very important guest came to visit. Eventually, Mr. Bates was going to leave. He was in the car with all of his suitcases-"

"Oh no!" Sybbie exclaimed, enraptured in the story that included people she knew.

"When! At the last moment, your grandpapa ran for the car and demanded that Mr. Bates get out and continue working."

Sybbie giggled, injury forgotten. "Another Barrow!"

Thomas began again, "Once upon a time in London, your Aunt Mary-"

"No, Barrow! Evil footman story!" Sybbie demanded.

What have I gotten myself into? Thomas wondered. There weren't a lot of "evil footman stories" that would be appropriate for young Sybil. Or that he would want to share anyway.

"Once upon a time at Downton Abbey, there lived an evil footman. He stole something very valuable from your grandpapa, and then made it look like Mr. Bates had taken it instead."

"Why did the evil footman hate Mr. Bates so much?"

Damn kids. They get right to the heart of the matter, don't they? "Well, Miss Branson, that is hard to say," Thomas paused, "I think the evil footman resented Mr. Bates because he thought Mr. Bates had taken the job that he should have gotten."

"The evil footman was jealous?"

"That's right, I suppose. He thought he was too good, too important, to be a footman, or a servant at all really."

Sybbie responded thoughtfully, "My papa was a servant once. He was a chaw-show—"

"The chauffer. Yes, that's right Miss Branson. Shall I finish the story?" Sybbie nodded eagerly. "Mr. Bates was too clever and returned it to your grandpapa's room."

"The evil footman never got caught?"

"Nope."

"Mr. Bates was really nice to him."

"I suppose he was. Oh, look, here comes your cousin with Dr. Clarkson." Thank God, Thomas thought.

* * *

><p>Thomas was up reading the paper in the servants' hall when Carson came in that night after the rest of the servants had gone to bed.<p>

"I was just checking in on Miss Branson." Carson informed Thomas.

"Oh? Is everything all right?" Thomas was confident she would be all right. She was a tough girl.

"Of course. She just has to stay off her feet for a couple of days as the doctor ordered. Clarkson will be here in the morning to check on her again."

Thomas nodded and turned his attention back to the newspaper, thinking this was the end of the conversation.

"She wanted me to tell her a story about an evil footman."

Thomas now appeared very interested in his paper. "What story did you tell her, Mr. Carson?"

"I told her there are no evil footmen at Downton Abbey," Carson paused, peering at the younger man, "And never have been."

Thomas turned the page.

Carson continued, "You know what she said?"

Thomas flipped the paper down far enough to make brief eye contact with his boss. "What did Miss Branson say, Mr. Carson?"

"She said, 'There are no evil footman, Carson, but there's an evil governess.'"

"I wonder who that might be," Thomas mused, feigning disinterest.

Carson slammed his palms against the table. "We're talking about the health and well-being of the children."

"I thought if you spare the rod you'll spoil the child," Thomas said wryly.

"Not all of Miss Branson's scars are from her tumble this afternoon," was Carson's only reply.

Thomas stayed silent, biting his tongue.

Carson sighed, defeated. "You always have a plan, Mr. Barrow, what's your plan?"

Thomas raised his eyebrows yet higher, "Are you suggesting an alliance, Mr. Carson?"

"I'll do whatever in my power to keep those children safe," Carson said firmly.

Thomas nodded. "I do have a plan, but we'll need a little help."


End file.
